


Poeticize Your Presence

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Seduction, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Potter has a bad habit of sneaking into Draco's private study and touching things.  Touching everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poeticize Your Presence

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a part of my [Art of Seduction Challenge](http://tamlane.livejournal.com/251017.html). (May 2013)
> 
> Prompt: _"You must surround your targets with focused attention, so that in those critical moments when they are alone, their mind is spinning with a kind of afterglow." ~ Robert Greene_

It wasn't the first time Draco had caught Albus Potter in his private study. But it had been a long time since the last time. It had been twenty-six days, to be exact, since Al had last been to visit Scorpius at the manor.

Yes, Draco had actually come to think of him as Al. Maybe it was because 'Al' was every other word out of his son's mouth.

Draco could still see 'Al' twenty-six days ago, perched on the edge of his newly refinished mahogany desk, running his long fingers over and over the feather of Draco's favorite quill.

Draco hadn't been able to use that quill since then without thinking about the boy's nerve. And his fingers. He was always determined to ruin something, leave his mark in some way.

But this time he had gone too far. When Draco burst through the double doors, he found Al leaning with one bare forearm against the mantel. In his other hand was a Malfoy heirloom — his great-great grandmother Malfoy's music box. And he held it by his ear. Shaking it.

"You got to be kidding," Draco spat, slamming the doors behind him.

Al shifted his weight slightly. Then, with a smile, he tossed the music box into the air like a bloody Quaffle. Draco held his breath. 

"I knew it was only a matter of time until you showed up," Al said.

"Until I showed up? This is my house, you insolent fuck," Draco snapped, fists curled at his sides. "And I'd like to know what makes you think—"

"I'm a Potter." Another toss of the box. "That's what makes me think." He pushed away from the mantel, now tossing the box back and forth between both hands. "And you're a Malfoy. And that's what makes you talk… talk… _talk_."

Draco's shoulders squared as Al drew nearer.

"I managed to break your son of that bad habit fifth year," Al said, now close enough that Draco could have reached out and grabbed the music box. Should have. Al smirked. "Guess how I did that."

Draco's eyes dropped to Al's lips. He didn't have to put up with this. His hand twitched, instinctively reaching for his wand.

"Here, have mine," said Al sweetly. He shifted the box and pulled out his wand, twirling it in front of Draco. "Ebony. Twelve and a half inches. Dragon heartstring. Rigid."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Go on." With a flick of his wrist, Al spun the wand until the handle faced Draco. "Give me your best shot. Go on."

Draco stared at the wand, as dark in its finish as the hair on Al's head. But he didn't offer to take it. "Give me the music box," he demanded instead.

After a few moments, Al shrugged and pocketed his wand. Then, one eyebrow raised, he turned the crank on the music box. Just one little turn.

"I've seen the way you look at me," he whispered. Another little turn. "Seen the way you look at my dad, too."

"You're full of—"

"No big deal." Another turn. "You can look all you like."

Each turn of the crank seemed to wind Draco just as tightly as the magic in the music box. Before he even realized what was happening, Al was circling him. Backing him towards his own desk. 

And Draco was definitely looking. He watched the muscles work in Al's forearm as he wound the box. His eyes were drawn to the hollow of his throat, up along the bulge of his Adam's apple, up to his lips, glistening from the swipe of his tongue.

"Listen," Al whispered, as though Draco had never heard the sound of his own damn music box. He lifted the cloisonné-decorated lid, and the frenzied tune split the silence of the study, the pace as fast as the pounding of Draco's heart against his ribs.

Al leaned over Draco, gently placing the music box on the desk. Draco could feel the vibrations of it against his hip. He gritted his teeth, knowing he would never be able to look at his treasured heirloom again without thinking of this moment — Al's wide eyes and wet lips, his unbearable nearness.

"Soon," Al whispered, backing slowly away, "there won't be anything left in this study I haven't touched."


End file.
